Once upon a time in a rich town / poor town not far from here, the rich people were good for everything and sometimes went to church. The poor people were good for nothing and often went to the dogs and the Red Lion.

At least, that's what the rich folk claimed, adding that the poor 'spend all their benefit on booze and fags never bother to better themselves and laze-about, working the odd fiddle when the bottle runs dry.'

The rich had many similar sayings, all of which made them feel quite good. After all, they didn't spend everything on booze, and they had bettered themselves, and their fiddles were perks, good for the economy.

"Love your neighbour as yourself," intoned their preacher one Sunday. Fine, smiled the rich, happy in the knowledge that they didn't live next door to those Red Lion layabouts.

But then the vicar followed on with an upbeat parable about the Good Illegal Immigrant

A man lay in the gutter in the poor part of town, beaten up and robbed. The town's reverend rector hurried past, eager to service his rich flock. An ever-so upright businessman drove by, only just managing to squeeze his Jag by the prone figure.

Into the accelerating exhaust fumes sprang the lowest of the lowest illegal immigrant. He fell to his knees, gently cradling the bleeding figure in his arms, and he took care of him.

"Go and do likewise," the preacher quoted Jesus, adding, "there but for the grace of God go you."

Suddenly, the rich had stopped smiling.